To borrow a phrase from my sister, I feel like a bag of ass. My head hurts. My body is weak. My sinuses are a snot factory. My temperature is elevated, 99.9. Not technically “fever level.” Still, I don’t feel cute at all. If Zac Efron asked me to go out this evening, I’d be forced to tell him to come back another day. That’s how bad this is.

When will this–whatever it is–be over?

I’ve spent most of the last twenty hours in bed. Now I’m propped up in a chair, where I just ate a meal and am currently blogging. With any luck, I’ll be back in bed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. If anyone has any medication that would knock me about for, oh, seven solid days, please leave it on my doorstep.

In other news, Dad has his heart catheterization this morning. From what I’ve been told, it took a while but went well. They put three stints in. With any luck, he’ll be home tomorrow or the next day.

I’m currently at just under two hundred words–that’s about all I have to offer at the moment. I wish I could tell you that I’m hanging in and holding strong, but I’m not. At the same time, I haven’t completely lost heart. Mostly I’m in shock. Like, This again? You’ve got to be kidding! And yet, no, life is not kidding. Sometimes it’s tough stuff. Sometimes it takes all the strength you have. Which, I hate to admit, is more than you realize.